Waves began unexpectedly, during a location scouting trip with John Martinez in the California desert. As we drove, I caught a glimpse of a man riding a homemade motorcycle down a side street. Something about him struck me—his look, the bike, the whole moment. I insisted we turn around, and luckily, we found him again. That simple act of turning back sparked the entire project.

He was open to being filmed, and soon his friend joined with a go-kart, adding another layer to the story. We flew a drone, capturing the desert’s expanse and their carefree rides. Back in post-production, the footage revealed something deeply nostalgic: a dreamy, almost boyhood sense of freedom and adventure.

As I reflected on the footage, it became a meditation on childhood dreams—the way we imagine we can fix the world when we’re young, dreaming without limits. There’s a divine sense of power in those moments, as if anything is possible. But as time passes, we realize the world’s complexity and our own limitations.

The title, Waves, reflects this ebb and flow of life—the expansive dreams of youth and the grounded acceptance that comes with maturity. It’s about letting go of the need to solve everything and finding peace in the present, like the rhythm of waves coming in and out.

At its core, Waves is a visual poem. It’s not meant to convey a direct meaning or moral, but to evoke the feelings of childhood wonder and the quiet mindfulness of adulthood. It’s a piece about dreaming, letting go, and simply being.